


Apple Cobbler

by Booksinvolved



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booksinvolved/pseuds/Booksinvolved
Summary: Emma shows up early to help Regina prepare their regularly-scheduled family dinner. Emma, of course, is a disaster in the kitchen and Regina hates it. But they also can't stop finding ways to touch each other.Set in my daydream universe where canon doesn't matter: a recently reformed Regina just wants to live domestic life in Storybrooke.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Apple Cobbler

“Regina?” Emma called out, closing the door behind her.

“I’m in the kitchen,” a voice announced, and then muttered a little quieter, “of course, let yourself in.”

“The door was unlocked,” Emma gripped the wine bottle she was holding as she made her way to the kitchen. The kitchen was uncharacteristically messy; dirty bowls cluttered the tasteful kitchen island, basil stems were scattered on the floor, and a frowning Regina was attacking spilt milk on the counter. A large pan sat slightly to the right of the stove, and the smell of garlic and basil wafting from a crack in its lid set Emma’s stomach grumbling. Failing to see any spare counter space, Emma gingerly placed the bottle of wine on the floor.

“Henry’s upstairs doing homework,” Regina greeted her. “You can wait for him in the living room.”

“Oh, actually,” Emma stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, “I thought I would come early to help.”

That got Regina’s attention. “And you thought _an hour_ was enough time to help? What did you think ‘dinner’ meant? Ordering from the Domino’s?”

“It’s just Domino’s. You don’t have to say th---never mind. Can I help you … clean?”

Regina paused. Emma Swan was, of course, the Savior, but she was also domestically challenged. The first (and only) time Emma had been allowed to host family dinner, she had served them takeout on plastic plates in front of a television. In fact, a mildly drunk Emma had confessed at the end of the night that if she didn’t "feel so bad for the environment", she would eat off plastic plates everyday to avoid washing dishes.

“You can wash the dishes,” Regina conceded.

“Great!” Emma pulled her hands out of her pockets, surreptitiously wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. She shrugged off her jacket and glanced around for a place to keep it. She looked up at Regina for help, but the woman had returned to her battle with the spilt milk. Emma turned, intending to hang her jacket by the door, when Regina snapped, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Emma settled for neatly folding her jacket and tucking it under the bottle on the floor. She gathered as many of the dirty bowls as she could and dumped them in the sink. She watched the sink fill with water, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. Henry had suggested she come early to “get to know Regina better” and “put the ‘family’ in ‘family dinner’”.

“So,” Emma poured a generous amount of dish soap into the slowly filling sink, “what’s for dinner?”

“A mushroom risotto. And once you’ve washed and dried those dishes, an apple cobbler.”

“Apples, huh? You really found your thing and rolled with it.”

Regina didn’t dignify that with a response. A few weeks ago, she might have treated Emma to her patented scowl (she had been practising), made a cutting remark, or threatened to poison the dessert, but she had promised Henry to be on her best behaviour. She threw the last of the soggy paper towels into the trash and surveyed the counter until she was satisfied that not a drop of milk remained. She looked over at the sink and was suitably aghast.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Washing the dishes,” Emma pushed a bowl further into the sink filled with soapy water, “like you said.” She proceeded to scrub the submerged bowl, pull the soaking (and still soapy) bowl out, and place it neatly in the drying rack.

“You call that _washing_?” Regina put the bowl back into the sink and let the sink drain. “This is supposed to be a _civilised_ world. You can’t hold a dirty dish in used water and expect it to become clean.”

“Okay,” Emma was amused, “what if I’m also scrubbing the dish?”

“Well, you don’t need to waterboard it to do that, do you?” Regina thrust the sponge back into Emma’s hands. “Try scrubbing it in the air and then _rinsing_ it.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Emma retorted. She looked down, letting her hair hide the blush that had crept up her cheeks when Regina’s hand had touched hers. _Stupid, touch-starved brain_ . Okay, so maybe her nervousness wasn’t _entirely_ about what Henry had said. Maybe Emma had been a little too lonely for a little too long. Maybe Regina’s tops had grown progressively lower necks. Maybe Emma wasn’t just looking at Regina’s lips to investigate her lipstick.

“And tie your hair,” Regina tucked Emma’s hair behind her ears, “it’s getting in the dishes.”

_Stop thinking about her hands, stop thinking about her hands._

x

“Consider your dishes washed,” Emma said triumphantly. “What’s next?”

“Next, you can wait for Henry in the living room.”

“Why? You’re still cooking.”

While Emma had industriously cleaned a handful of bowls, Regina had cleaned the rest of the kitchen and moved on to slicing apples for the cobbler. The knife stilled mid-slice. “You want to… cook?”

“Don’t sound so sceptical,” Emma said indignantly, “I know my way around a few apples.”

Regina considered this. Pros: she could use a hand, Emma would stop looking for things to do, Henry would be delighted. Cons: the apple cobbler would be inedible, Emma might slice a finger off, Emma might start a kitchen fire… now she was just getting carried away. What was the worst that could happen if she let Emma Swan slice apples?

“Fine,” Regina fought her instincts, gingerly holding her knife out to Emma, “slice them evenly, and not too thin.”

“Got it,” Emma took the knife, and Regina’s worst fears came true. First of all, the woman couldn’t even hold a knife right. And she brought the knife down on the apple quarters like she was trying to murder them. After what felt to Regina like an eternity of torture---it was barely thirty seconds---she barked, “Stop!”

Regina placed her right hand over Emma’s, adjusting Emma’s fingers so that the knife was positioned correctly, “If you grip the knife right, you’re less likely to sever a finger in my kitchen. And even axe-murderers have better technique. Here-”

At that, Regina stepped behind Emma so that her right arm encircled her. Without thinking about it, she rested her left hand against Emma’s hip for support as she demonstrated the correct sawing motion with Emma's knife hand. She felt Emma’s fingers tighten and realised, too late, the compromising positon she found herself in. She let go abruptly and stepped back, “You get the picture.”

Emma brought the knife down shakily and stopped. A tense second passed.

“Actually, maybe you can show me again? I was just starting to get the hang of it.”

Regina narrowed her eyes, trying to determine if Emma was making fun of her. She was still learning to pick up on some subtle cues in conversations. Perhaps this was because she was only “20% emotionally intelligent” (according to Buzzfeed). She supposed that meant she was 80% emotionally stupid. She stepped forward and placed her arms around Emma again, pretending that no, this wasn’t an excuse to touch her again, this was necessary for the perfect apple cobbler, and what did the Buzzfeed know?

x

“When you say 'toss',” Emma prodded in the mixing bowl with a wooden spoon, “what does that mean, exactly?”

Regina made a motion with her arms that looked like the chicken dance to Emma. “Like that.”

Emma snorted, and delighted in the flash of mortification that crossed Regina’s face. Regina’s nostrils flared. It was cute.

“Look, why don’t you just show me?” Emma reasoned. “It’ll be faster.”

Regina sighed loudly. Emma began deliberately jabbing the spoons in different directions, “Like this?”

Regina’s hands immediately clutched Emma’s arms to stop her from destroying the apples, “What is _wrong_ with you?” The tip of Regina’s nose turned red. It was cute. 

Emma apologised, “Sorry, I’m still trying to get the hang of it.”

Regina closed her eyes and breathed slowly, When she reopened them, she took the tools from Emma and began tossing the apples herself, “This’ll only take me a minute.”

Emma pretended not to be disappointed.

“There,” Regina said, satisfied. “Now all that’s left is to assemble it.” She looked at Emma with an expression the blonde couldn’t quite decipher, “Care to do the honours?”

Emma slid the prepared baking dish over with a grin, “Of course, your majesty.”

“Stop calling me that,” Regina said, but only half-heartedly. “Now add the apples to the pan.” Regina deftly dotted the apples with butter and handed Emma the bowl of batter, “Now spread this over the apples.”

Emma raised her eyebrows as Regina reached for a bowl filled with an obscene amount of cinnamon sugar, “Is that for my benefit?”

“It’s for Henry,” Regina said immediately. "You don't have a monopoly on liking cinnamon."

“Come on, you can admit you wanted to do something nice for me,” Emma teased.

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. Now, do you want to sprinkle the cinnamon sugar or not?” Only Regina could make a question about cinnamon sugar sound threatening. It was cute. Emma smiled. Once the batter had disappeared under an abundance of cinnamon sugar, she carefully placed the dish in the preheated oven.

“That felt good!” Emma grinned, “Wow, I see why you enjoy baking so much.”

“Well, you make a good sous-chef,” Regina said grudgingly, “but I’ll wash the dishes this time.”

The brunette took a few steps and tripped over the bottle of wine that Emma had so thoughtfully placed on the floor. “What the hell?!”

x

  
  


“The apple cobbler was delicious, mom,” Henry said. “And mom. You should cook together more often.”

“‘Together’ is a bit of a stretch, kid,” Emma slipped her jacket on, “Regina did all the heavy lifting.”

“Maybe you can learn from her, then,” Henry hugged her, and gave her an uncharacteristic wink, “good night.”

“I’ll… go then,” Emma watched Henry race up the stairs, “thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for helping,” Regina said awkwardly, “you weren’t...terrible.”

“I’ll take the compliment,” Emma hovered in the door frame, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

Regina didn’t have the patience for this, “Is there something else?”

“No!” Emma froze, “yes? Maybe… maybe next time you can actually teach me to toss apples.”

“Next family dinner?”

“Maybe. Or maybe we can take the ‘family’ out of ‘family dinner’. Just dinner. A regular adult dinner.”

Regina pursed her lips, then relaxed, and smiled, “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying to get back into writing after a break of many many years so I'd appreciate feedback!


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